Fairer Than Death
by pas une pipe
Summary: Voldemort is alive and well, and there is no prophecy...well, until now. Hermione feels like she has never belonged anywhere. What will happen when this clever young Muggle-born takes the wizarding world by storm? [AU.]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter, yada yada. After chapter two, updates will be much longer.

Seven is a very important number in the wizarding world, partly because that is when many witches' and wizards' powers start to appear. I am also going with the assumption that prophecy records in the Department of Mysteries are memories. If no one is there to witness a Seer's prediction, then there won't be any record.

* * *

**5 October, 1986**

"The moon is waxing," she whispered, fumbling with the many chains hanging around her bony neck. Eyes wide, Sybill Trelawney grasped a chipped teacup until her knuckles turned white, and anxiously peered over the kettle. Soon the water came to a rolling boil; the kettle whistled as its searing hot contents rumbled inside.

Steam quickly fogged up her glasses. However, the Seer's racing thoughts were impervious to everything around her. Suddenly, her shoulders lurched forward, and painful spasms coursed through her body. A voice, quite unlike her own, passed through her lips.

_"She with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord awakens... Born to those whom he despises, born as the fading crescent dies… A light of truth in the darkness, she will have knowledge the Dark Lord knows not… but his shadow will smother the flame, for the Dark Lord tolerates no resistance…" _


	2. Chapter 2

"...a perfect fifth encompasses five staff positions and seven semitones. When you go clockwise you add a sharp, and when you go anticlockwise you add a flat."

"Very good, Hermione!" Mrs. Henderson praised, beaming at her new student. "That will be all for today, but let me write down what you should work on for Tuesday. What's today's date again...? Oh, right, September the ninth."

The old widow's veiny hands were surprisingly graceful, despite the arthritis that plagued her poor joints. No pianist deserved such a fate, especially one so talented.

"I had a feeling that you would read ahead... I'm happy that you're enthusiastic, but remember that you can only get so far with books..." the elderly woman trailed off, moving her gaze to the top of the short list. "Why didn't you tell me that today is your birthday?"

Hermione Granger looked down at her leather slip-on shoes, blushing a little. "We — my parents and I — celebrated yesterday."

"That's hardly an excuse!" Mrs. Henderson exclaimed. "I'm afraid that all I have is coffee cake. Would you like some? I won't tell if you don't."

Hermione's cheeks turned a slightly darker shade of pink. "Oh, I couldn't impose, Mrs. Hender—"

"I'm only teasing you," the woman said, waving her hand dismissively. "You've always been such a good girl. I wish I could say the thing about myself when I was your age... Maybe I wouldn't have to wear dentures if my parents were dentists like yours! I never could stay away from sweets."

Sighing, Mrs. Henderson pushed herself up with her cane. "It looks like our time is up anyway, dear. My son is coming to town to visit."

Hermione shuffled all of her sheet music into a pile and tucked her modest collection into its properly labeled folder. "Thank you, and I hope you enjoy his visit."

Not many students could boast that their music instructor lived right across the street from them, but Hermione was one such case, even if she was only a novice. In a matter of seconds, she reached the green door with a gold knocker.

"I'm home!" she called as she unzipped her jacket. There was no reply, only muffled sounds from the living room. Her parents were just watching the telly.

On the dining room table there was a letter addressed to her in vivid emerald ink. How peculiar.

_Ms. H. Granger_

_The Bedroom in the Attic_

_6 Ebbings Lane_

_London_

Hesitantly, she picked up the sealed envelope, and examined it more closely. Who was it from? Maybe her parents would know.

"Mum? Dad? Do you—"

Suddenly, she stopped. Something wasn't right. The looks on her parents' faces weren't right.

"...disaster struck central London today. Dozens of people have been killed, and many more have been transported to local hospitals. Authorities aren't sure who is responsible for these tragedies, but reports of alleged cult members in masks are being investigated..."


End file.
